Closing Walls & Ticking Clocks
by justareader13
Summary: He isn't sure what to say when Luke and Claire tell him the truth. He knew they had been keeping something from him but he wasn't expecting this, "Sam? Sam, did you hear us?" Claire asks him, staring at him cautiously. "I… he did what?" "He got you erased from his memories. We're not supposed to mention your relationship to him again." [Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind AU]


**Characters:** Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, Claire Temple, Luke Cage, Sarah Rogers, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange

 **Pairings:** Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, background/implied relationships

 **Tags/Warnings:** Memory Tampering, internalized homophobia, mild sexual content

* * *

Sam has never particularly cared for Harlem's Paradise.

It isn't that he doesn't like the club physically. On the contrary, it has a certain appeal to it and the live music is amazing. But there's the fact that the club is owned by Cottonmouth and so is at least partly paid for with money extorted from local Black business owners. Business owners whose livelihoods are already in danger thanks to gentrification. With that in mind, he can't sit down and enjoy the music.

Still, for some reason, he wakes up around midnight and just wants to go there. There's a pull in his chest and all he can think of is Paradise.

 _Go to the Paradise. Go to the Paradise._

It repeats on a loop in his head so much so it keeps him up at night. There's only one Paradise he can think of and that's Harlem's Paradise. Rather than continue to be mentally tortured, he gets on a train and takes it down towards the club. When he gets there, the place is closed. He looks at it with confusion. There's a sign on the door that reads, closed by order of the New York City Sheriff. He shakes his head and turns away. That doesn't make sense, he could've sworn he heard music as he walked down the street.

There it is again. The music.

Sam walks further down the block following the low sounds of a cello, the smooth tooting of a saxophone, the infectious melodies of horns, the high tones of a violin and the dulcet voice of a female vocalist. Eventually he finds himself standing outside another club. It's a much smaller establishment than Harlem's Paradise. The lit blue sign above the door proclaims the place to be simply, Paradise. He didn't know this place existed before now.

He feels that tugging in his chest again, something prompting him to walk inside. A part of him wants to walk away. This whole thing is crazy. He only ended up at this place thanks to some voice in his head. Still, a much larger part of him wants to go inside. It yearns for whatever lays behind this door.

What does he have to lose anyway?

* * *

He isn't sure what to say when Luke and Claire tell him the truth. He knew they had been keeping something from him but he wasn't expecting this.

"Sam? Sam, did you hear us?" Claire asks him, staring at him cautiously.

"I… he did what?"

"He got you erased from his memories. We're not supposed to mention your relationship to him again."

"How? What?" Sam asks in bewilderment.

"You remember I was telling you about that new procedure Dr. Stephen Strange from my hospital came up with? He teamed up with Tony Stark and got the funding and equipment and they built it, this… machine that can take the memories of anyone you want it to."

"And Steve…"

"He did it a month ago, Bucky only just told us or else we would've told you sooner." Luke adds. Sam shakes his head in disbelief. Things hadn't ended well between them, it never ended well when it ended but he didn't think…

At least he thought…

Sam sits down heavily on the couch. Well, Steve always did have a flair for dramatics. He said he wished he could forget them, Sam just didn't think he'd literally do it.

He's shell-shocked for a few days. He tries not to think about it and can't forget it. He makes up his mind half a dozen times to go to Steve's apartment to see him but he doesn't want to be faced with a Steve who doesn't know him.

He's hurt. He didn't think Steve hated him this much. He made mistakes, they both did, but he didn't think he loathed him enough to erase him from his memories. Then he's angry. What gives him the right to just erase everything like it never happened? Like he didn't completely change Sam's entire life and knock it off trajectory only to leave him in the end and not even allow him to get a word in edgewise?

Steve goes as far as to send him a letter. An actual, handwritten letter. Sam had received it before Claire and Luke told him but he hadn't opened it, he didn't want to read what Steve had to say. He does one night. He gets completely drunk and decides to read it. He's too drunk at the time to get everything he said and he doesn't bother re-reading it when he's sober but certain sentences stick in his mind: _you're a coward, you're selfish, you don't love me because you can't love yourself, I wish I could forget us sometimes, I'm not sorry, Maybe one day we could..._

Steve never finishes that part. He crossed it out but not enough to render it illegible. Sam doesn't want to get hung up thinking about what he could've said but he can't stop thinking about it. Inevitably he'll then start thinking about the fact that Steve erased him and then he'll get angry and then he'll drink because there's nothing else to do and that cycle continues repeatedly.

He's drunk when he sees the commercial ad for Agamotto, the memory procedure. They give phone numbers and addresses and when Sam wakes up from his bender he finds them written down perfectly for him.

Choosing to do a largely experimental procedure and erase someone from your mind shouldn't be a spur of the moment kind of thing, but Sam makes the decision on a dime. Literally, a dime. As soon as the idea pops into his head, he has his doubts so rather than argue with himself, he flips a dime. Heads, he won't do it. Tails, he goes through with it.

The coin lands on tails and Sam immediately grabs a computer to look up this procedure. Hell, this treatment couldn't come around fast enough. He'd rather live the rest of his life Steve-free than deal with the anger, hurt, fear and grief he's felt over the last 17 years he's known him.

* * *

He finds himself meeting with Dr. Stephen Strange and Tony Stark at Stark Tower later that week to interview with them.

"Just standard questions we ask every candidate to verify their intent and mental stability before going through with the procedure." Dr. Strange explains when Sam asks.

"I just like to watch." Stark tacks on to explain his presence. They ask him a series of questions regarding his physical and mental health. Sam doesn't have much in the way of preexisting conditions besides PTSD and he's been managing it for years.

"Who is it you'll be erasing?" Dr. Strange asks.

"Steve Rogers, he's my ex-boyfriend."

"How long were you together?"

"We were... it's complicated."

"Meaning?" Stark asks curiously.

"It was an on and off again sort of thing."

"Hmm. Bad breakup?"

"You could say that." Sam replies sarcastically, gesturing to the room.

"And finally, we have to ask, what prompted you to make this decision?" The doctor asks, scribbling on his clipboard.

"I found out he erased me." Sam replies, shrugging his shoulder in what should've been a casual move. He isn't sure he succeeds.

"Your ex-boyfriend you mean?"

"Yes."

"So, what, this is a little revenge scrubbing?" Stark asks.

"No." Sam says. His response is strong but he isn't sure of its veracity.

"We're not here to judge you, just asking a question." Stark replies, holding his hands up in a surrender motion.

"It's not revenge." Sam denies.

"Then what is it?" Stark presses.

"Has someone ever erased you?" Sam asks, his tone angered. Stark pauses before answering.

"Yup, twice. One of them was under my payroll for a while so you can imagine that was strange, having to foot the bill for someone to erase you. Strange has been on the receiving end there too. Don't worry, he didn't do the procedure himself. That'd be an insane conflict of interest." Stark says all of that nonchalantly but Sam can see the pain just behind his eyes.

"What were their names?" Sam asks. It feels strange referring to these people in past tense as if they're dead. Only the memories shared between them are dead.

"I don't think this is a con—" Strange starts before Stark cuts him off.

"Pepper and Rhodey. Well, I called them Pepper and Rhodey, their names were... _are_ Virginia and James." He says their names reverently but not without pain. He zones out for a second before shaking his head.

"And what was that nurse's name, Doc? Allison?"

"It was Christine." Dr. Strange replies, giving Stark a look.

"Huh, I was nowhere close. You got a point there, Slim?"

"Does it hurt to say their names?" Neither man answers that question.

"I'm not gonna ask why you didn't erase them but I want Steve gone. Let's call it closure."

"But that's not what it really is?" Strange clarifies.

"It's... a blank page in a blank book."

"Poetic." Stark comments.

* * *

They clear him for the procedure eventually. On the day it's meant to happen, Claire accompanies him back to Stark Tower. She doesn't bother asking if he's sure about it. He's a bundle of nerves inside but outside he's stoic and serious as sin.

He wonders if this act would be considered a sin. His father is a preacher but Sam hasn't told him or any of his family anything about his decisions of late.

If it is a sin, Sam has never claimed to be sin-free.

"Will it hurt?" He asks one of the technicians who is hooking him up to the apparatus.

"Not physically but that pain doesn't last long. When it's over, you won't even remember." She reassures him, or tries to. He isn't sure it works. He doesn't have time to wonder about that because suddenly the room is fading and there is a voice telling him to think back to when he first met Steve.

Everything goes black and then awash with color and he's back on the streets of Brooklyn, a gangly 16-year-old in 1996.

Gideon and Sam used to be B-Boys. It wasn't so much a great love of dancing that inspired their decision, it was mostly for financial reasons. It got a little extra dough in their pockets since the money they made working legit jobs went straight to their parents to pay the bills. Sarah would work as their emcee, working the boom box and hyping up the crowd while the boys did all manner of flips and spins and tricks to an adoring audience. They always made a pretty buck.

Sam's minding his business cleaning up after their performance when someone approaches him. The guy is a brute and carries a palpable menace with him. He warns Sam to stay away from this neighborhood, says it's his territory and if he sees Sam again there'll be problems.

"Can it, Rumlow. Don't you have some alley cats to terrorize or something?" Another voice says. Sam looks over and there he was. He's a short thing, barely taller than Sarah who's 5'0. There's a frailty about him, a delicate quality. He glares at the larger guy who walks away with a pointed look at Sam but the new guy softens upon looking at him.

He feels a sharp tug in his chest as the reality that this is a memory suddenly breaks through his psyche. Steve hasn't looked at him with a gaze this soft in a long while but being under it has always sent Sam into a tizzy. He didn't think he remembered how he felt then and even if he did, he couldn't decipher it. He can now. There's caution and curiosity but also attraction and something else warm.

Steve beams at him kindly and that warmth spreads across his chest.

"Don't mind Brock. His Ma dropped him down two flights of stairs, so he ain't all there."

For some reason, Sam doesn't feel the anger and pain he's felt lately when thinking of Steve, just a growing fondness.

Steve rambles. He did that a lot when he was younger. He goes on and on about Sam's dancing skills and how amazing they are, how he'd never be able to do that on account of his scoliosis and two left feet. Sam can barely follow everything he says but he finds himself wanting to hang on to every word.

"Hey, you know any good eats around here?" Sam asks, cutting Steve off as he was going slightly red in the face.

"Of course."

"Show me?" Sam asks, just as he had then. Steve blushes like he had before and nods for Sam to follow him. He wants to stay in this memory, he wants to analyze it. How did they go from this to where they are now?

But he can't do that because soon Steve's voice grows distorted. The memory is overtaken by a bright white light and then fades to nothingness.

* * *

Their relationship is fast. It was always fast.

For Sam, he remembers it like he up and fell for Steve over the space of a moment. Of course, it wasn't like that but it feels like it. Memories whirl and fade in quick succession past him.

Steve watching Sam dance every weekend and then taking him out to eat.

That time when Steve valiantly tries to power through spicy Mexican food and ends up having an asthma attack.

Their first kiss which takes place in the ocean after Steve convinces Sam to jump off the pier at Coney Island at night with him. Sam freaks out over the kiss just like he had before but Steve calms him down, tells him it's okay, tells him to just feel it and so that's what he does. He might as well be one of the passengers on the Cyclone for all his stomach is flip-flopping when they lean in for a second kiss.

After that, the 'I-love-yous' come swiftly. Literally, some of the memories that come and go are simply just that: the words 'I-love-you'. Steve says it all the time, he practically smothers Sam in his I-love-yous. He says it on the corner where Sam dances, in the restaurants they patron, at Steve's place (only ever Steve's place, never at Sam's), he says it around his friends and Sam's friends. He says it quietly and intimately and loudly and without shame because he can do that. Steve is fearless. He doesn't feel ashamed of who he is. His mother knows he's bisexual, people in the neighborhood know, people at his church know. It just is. And if Steve comes home with a few bruises now and again, honestly, what's new? There's no way to tell whether it's from a fight with someone who doesn't share the openminded view or indifference of the people surrounding Steve or from a fight against some bully or asshole hitting on a girl too aggressively for Hero Steve's liking.

Conversely, half the time Sam just stares at him wide eyed after his declarations. Steve mostly laughs at Sam's dumbfounded expressions but Sam can see the little tinge of hurt behind his eyes when Sam doesn't say it back. He didn't say it back then either. Before, he couldn't allow his guard down enough to let the words slip past his lips. Now, he's just so surprised to hear it from Steve that he doesn't know how to react, especially since he knows he's far removed from the teen Steve fell in love with. The hurt always fades from Steve quickly and he's back to looking at Sam like he's the best thing since sliced bread. It's both infuriating and the scariest thing in the world for him, to be so revered and loved by someone. It's too much. Steve loves him too much.

At the same time, he's been faced with a world where Steve doesn't seem to love him at all.

Neither world is particularly ideal.

The memories get lost too quickly for Sam to hold on to the tangible fear connected with them.

Inevitably, he'll disappoint Steve. Well, he already did. These are just memories, memories that aren't going to exist after today.

* * *

"Sam!" Steve calls, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Huh?" Sam grunts, resurfacing in whatever memory this is that he's gonna be forced to repeat (not forced, he chose this procedure voluntarily, but indulge him).

"What do you think?" Steve asks, gesturing towards a canvas painting sitting on an easel in his cramped bedroom. Sam remembers how Steve would all but order Sam to hop on a train from Harlem all the way to Brooklyn just to give his opinion on Steve's artworks.

Sam isn't an artist, has no interest in it whatsoever, but Steve insists on getting his input. Sam looks at the painting and shrugs.

"S'fine." Steve deflates slightly.

"Just fine?" He asks. Sam nods absentmindedly, looking around Steve's bedroom. It's been a while since Sam was here, not since Steve's mother died. That was part of the catalyst that saw them break up the first time. Well, that and Sam's parents trying to push him into a relationship with a girl and, ultimately, Sam leaving.

He takes a moment to admire the room while continuing the remembered conversation with Steve.

"My teacher said it seems too impersonal to add to my portfolio, too generic." Sam looks at the painting of the Brooklyn Bridge. It's a nice painting, all Steve's paintings are good, but this is not his best work. There's nothing special about, it doesn't hold that extra oomph Steve's work usually does to mark it as his own.

"She's right. You don't even like the Brooklyn Bridge, the water off the Hudson makes you nauseous."

"You know, I wanted to paint you." Sam feels a frown alight his face. Steve is quick to continue.

"But I know you said you didn't want to risk that. Still, what's the off chance of your parents seeing one of my artworks though?"

"Could be my brother or sister too. Or just someone in the neighborhood. Besides, I think you're just trying to get out of reworking your project because this time you'll have to actually do it instead of procrastinating and half-assing it towards the end." Steve scoffs then.

"Couldn't even lie to make me feel better, huh?"

"No." Sam replies.

"Anyone who doesn't stroke your ego's a keeper, Sunshine boy." Sarah Rogers says, walking past the open room door. Sam whips around to watch her walk pass. She walks too fast for him to make out much more than a flash of blonde hair.

"I'm serious though. I want to add you to my portfolio. It won't see too random since I've already got sketches of Bucky in it. Sketching you would be personal and the lines of your face lend itself to a perfectly unique subject."

"Thanks?" Sam replies. He wasn't sure how to take that then and he still isn't sure. Either way Steve's voice is fading.

* * *

Memories pass quickly and in a blur. Sam can't put a number on how many he loses, he can't remember, but he can feel a desperation growing in him with every passing one.

His fingers want to reach forward and grasp them. He wants to live in these moments where everything is uncomplicated and Steve loves him unabashedly a moment longer but soon enough they're gone and he has to move on.

* * *

They are laying down in Steve's bed. Steve's got the apartment to himself and Sam has made his excuses to his family, claiming to be studying with Luke who's covering for him. He's graduating high school this year and his parents couldn't be prouder of him but Sam's worried. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do after this. His parents say college but he doesn't even know what he wants to do with his life. Steve has a scholarship to some art college in the city so he's okay. Sam supposes that's good since it's looking like community college for him anyway. He gets to stay here with Steve while he pursues his passion and Sam flounders aimlessly with no idea what his calling is.

These aren't concerns Sam has to worry about now because this is far in the past. Sam didn't stay in New York, he did a couple years of college and then enlisted after 9/11 under the guise of patriotism. It wasn't about that at all but it served as a good front and the army did help him find his place helping others in the psychology field. Steve did the whole art school thing and got a job doing illustration for some publishing company as well as doing work on commission. Sam went four years without seeing Steve until running into him while he was on leave.

That was when they were 25 but in this memory, they are 18 and young and still the idealists who think love will be enough.

Steve smiles brightly at Sam, his blonde hair falling into his eyes a little.

"What's wrong?" He asks. Sam looks over at him, the sun shining on him to create a halo around his fragile body. Sam pauses. This is the part where he says 'it's nothing, just thinking about this math test'. Except…

Sam wonders how far he can push this. He has tried to stay in his memories and largely it hasn't worked but he's stuck to the scripts of these moments. He hasn't deviated at all. He wonders if he could even if he tried.

"It's nothing. I was just thinking of how hot my boyfriend is." Sam says.

This is the part where Steve says, 'Don't worry, babe. You'll ace it and if you need any help, I'm good with geometry.' Instead Steve chuckles.

"Ooh, I love compliments. I don't even care about the inflated ego you're going to give me." Sam feels his throat in his stomach. It actually worked.

"I've got something else inflated I could give you." Sam replies. It's easy to let the bad line roll off his tongue, it's a running thing with them anyway. He says something cheesy and Steve teases him. It works without fail as Steve bursts out laughing.

"That was really bad. Lucky for you, I'm horny enough to ignore that."

"Lucky me." Sam replies as Steve climbs into his lap to straddle him.

It's been some time since they were here, in love and making love. Steve gasps under him and Sam rocks into him, his arms a vice around Sam's shoulders. Sam loves this, loves being with Steve. He's missed it. He doesn't want to forget the little surprised gasps Steve makes every time Sam modifies the angle at which he thrusts into him. He doesn't want to forget the way he positively _moans_ Sam's name. The way his breathe feels brushing against Sam's ear. The tight, velvet heat wrapped around his cock. The way his eyes glisten as he stares up at Sam, orbs spilling over with emotion that seems to get stuck in his throat when he tries to articulate it.

Sam doesn't want to lose any of this. But he can, he will, he already has. Steve is gone, he erased Sam as easily as a junk file on a computer. Now Sam is erasing him. There'll be no one who remembers these precious moments, no home for them. This moment and every other moment will be lost to oblivion soon enough. Before, he lost Steve and that hurt but now he's losing _everything_ and he only has himself to blame for that.

He pulls Steve close, trying to hide the tears welling up.

"Babe, what's wrong?" Steve asks breathlessly. Sam shakes his head, leaning in to kiss Steve's cheek, ignoring the wetness on his own.

"Honey?" Steve asks with concern. Sam shakes his head again and pulls Steve into another kiss, this one on the lips.

"I love you." He whispers against his mouth. Steve gasps as Sam pulls out of him only to thrust back in and hit his sweet spot dead on.

"Sam." Steve whimpers.

"I love you. I love you so fucking much." Sam whispers in his ear as Steve falls apart under him. He thinks he might say it in this one moment more than any other time in his and Steve's relationship.

Maybe.

He can't quite remember.

* * *

There's a ringing in his ears and his throat feels slightly hoarse. He looks up to see he's in Steve's new room at the apartment he now shares with Bucky. Steve isn't smiling at him, Steve is angry. Steve hasn't been happy in a while. His mother died a few months ago, he had to move out of the place they shared since he could no longer afford it, his school work has been piling up on him and now Sam has dropped this bombshell on him during yet another stress induced fight between the two.

"So, that's it? You're just gonna date her because your family wants you to? You're gonna spend your life pretending to be straight? You're gonna marry some woman you don't love and pop out babies you don't even want?" Sam remembers this fight. He and Steve are older, both 21 rather than 18 years old and running around the neighborhood somewhat carefree together. Sam needs to start thinking of his future, his father said. A career, marriage, children and Misty is a perfectly lovely girl.

"We've been on one date, Steve. Marriage and kids is a little premature. Besides, Misty is –" Sam starts but Steve cuts him off.

"I don't give a damn what Misty is or isn't! You're with me. Why can't you just tell them that? You met my mother, you were with me through her funeral, through it all. You're telling me that if, God forbid, something happens to someone in your family I can't even be there for you? What? Simply because you're too much of a coward to tell them the truth?"

"None of this is simple, Steve. I don't get to just do what I want to. My actions reflect on my family. My father is a pastor, I don't get to be gay." Sam said this before. He had said this many times but Steve never much cared for this explanation. Regardless, Sam clung to it over the years. Part of him clings even now.

"But you _are_ gay. That's not a choice. Leaving me for Misty? That's a choice." Steve replies, tears glistening in his eyes.

"What is it, Sam? It can't just be that you're afraid. Is it me? Am I doing something wrong? Why can't you just tell them?" Steve practically begs to know.

"It is you, okay!" Sam shouts back at Steve.

This is the part where he's supposed to leave and let Steve dwell on his insecurities so Sam doesn't have to face his own. Steve would scream at him to come back, to finish their fight, to not be a coward and walk away. Sam would leave anyway. He wouldn't end up dating Misty, instead he would enlist and leave before Steve could see him again.

Except that's not what happens. Instead he says everything he's thinking of, even the things Steve probably won't even understand yet.

"You scare me sometimes, Steve. Because you look at me and you think I'm smart and kind and good. Better than I really am. You know how hard that is? Living up to this perfect guy you made me up to be, this guy sitting leagues above me on a pedestal who can't possibly be me? 'Cause I gotta tell you buddy, if you think that's me, your judgement's askew. You misread the label on the tin." Steve pauses, staring at him wide-eyed and not without guilt.

"Well, I'm half blind so you can't really blame me, right?" Steve jokes weakly. Sam chuckles sadly.

"I am a coward."

"No, I didn't mean that. You're—"

"I am. You're right, I don't know if I could ever tell my family. I'm afraid. I'm scared of what they'll say, how they'll look at me. I'm so afraid that just the thought of telling them literally leaves me shaking. You don't deserve that. You don't deserve to be someone's dirty secret. You're the one who should be on a pedestal somewhere. You're so good and you love so deep. Sometimes I wonder what you're doing with me because I don't know if I love you the way you love me, the way you deserve to be loved. You deserve as much as you put out. I don't know if I have enough, I'm scared I'm not enough." Sam admits. Steve shakes his head and crosses the room, pulling Sam into an embrace.

"You are enough. Your love is enough. I know I can be intense sometimes. I'll tone it down for you, I'll pull back. I swear."

"No, you shouldn't. That's the point." Sam murmurs. He pulls back to finish the sentiment but when he looks at Steve he doesn't have a face anymore. Sam draws back and looks around the room as the colors began to bleed and fade to white.

"No, wait! I'm not done! I'm not..."

* * *

He comes back to himself in a library. He's 25 and back home from the air force. He's already re-enlisted, not wanting to face any of what he ran from in the first place, but he's home for six months and he's bored so he's goes to the local library to gather some reading materials. He will run into Steve here. The two will have awkward, stunted conversation borne of an abrupt ending to their relationship and no contact for four years but eventually they will end up shacking up again.

Sam looks around the library frantically. He has no idea how long he has here. He needs to find Steve and they need to leave now. There must be some way to stop all of this from happening and they can find it together. He drops the books in his hands to the ground, ignoring the way one of the librarian exclaims at him and takes off checking aisle after aisle searching for Steve. He finds him in the history sections absentmindedly browsing the World War II literature.

"Steve!" He calls, running towards him. Steve looks up at him, clearly surprised to see him.

"Sam?" He says incredulously. Sam grabs his hand and begins pulling him down the aisle.

"We have to go."

"What? What are you talking about?" Steve asks and Sam starts to run, pulling him along.

"I don't have time to explain it all but we need to leave."

"Sam, I haven't seen you in years and you show up out of nowhere to—where are we going?" Steve asks as they turn a corner to what should be the lobby but is just another aisle of books. Sam looks around in confusion this aisle of books shouldn't be here. This doesn't deter him, he pulls Steve down another aisle in hopes of finding an exit but just comes upon more and more shelves of books.

"Sam, my asthma. I can't keep running like this." Steve says as Sam drags them in circles.

"We have to go somewhere, we have to hide, because if we don't they're going to take you away from me, okay? They're going to take you away." Sam explains, pulling him down another aisle with hopes that this will yield better results but he just ends up dragging them to another dead end. Sam can feel frustration growing in him. Nevertheless, he makes to run down another aisle when Steve sets his feet and grinds them to a halt.

"I said I need to stop." He says breathlessly, leaning over to catch his breath. Sam looks at him with guilt and regret before moving forward to rummage in Steve's jacket pocket where he usually keeps his inhaler. He rubs his back as he breaths through the attack. Sam can see the white light growing as sections of the library are swallowed up by the procedure. He finds himself sinking to the floor, his back pressed up against some of the book shelves.

"I'm an idiot. Of course, there's nowhere to go. I chose this, this is my fault." Sam admits, looking up at Steve through tear glistened eyes.

"I don't disagree but what are you talking about?" Steve asks him, looking at him like he has two heads.

"I was so mad when I found out you erased me, but why the hell wouldn't you? I left you, twice. I wish I could say I joined the army for righteous reasons, brave reasons. The truth is I wanted to run away. I wanted to run from you and my family and myself and an active war zone didn't leave a whole lot of time to worry about my shit. The second time, I didn't tell you I re-enlisted because I was just afraid. I was afraid of finding out if you would wait for me or leave me and so I left you. I don't even know why you gave me another chance after that. I shouldn't have been surprised when you left. Pre-emptive strike, I guess. Leave me before I could leave you… again." Sam swipes at his face as the tears finally fall.

"I don't deserve these memories. I don't deserve you, I never did. But I… I love you. I just wish I showed it better, I wish you knew. I should've told you more often and I should've told my family the truth and I should've never left. I made so many mistakes." Sam laments, dropping his head between his knees as he begins to sob in earnest. He looks up when he feels Steve's hand touch his back.

"Are you having an episode or something? 'Cause Claire mentioned you were having some issues and I don't know nearly enough about PTSD to help so…" Steve says, leaning over to assess his face. Sam lets out a watery laugh.

"No, I'm not having an episode, just an epiphany."

"Okay. I don't know what half of what you said means but okay." Steve jokes, still watching him cautiously. Sam shakes his head in response.

"I'm sorry. I never apologized to you, not once. I'm sorry for leaving you and hurting you. I wish I was able to prove you right, be that guy you thought so highly of. All I did was… mess everything up, destroy us." Steve slips down to the floor beside him. Sam can hear the breath rattling in Steve's lungs, a byproduct of the impromptu marathon and what was, no doubt, a confusing situation. Sam looks over at him, a sad smile on his face.

"I'm sorry." Steve doesn't say whether he accepts his apology. They're silent for a moment until Steve speaks up.

"I was so mad when you left, I'm still mad. But, for some reason, I still love you. It's pathetic really: being so hung up on a guy who chose a battlefield over facing the future of our relationship. I've dated people since you left, I even grew to love some of them, but I always end up comparing them to you. And somehow, I find them lacking because they're not you, the guy who left. That's a pretty fucked up commentary on how we operate, how I live my life because I met you. Half the time, I can't decide whether you're a blessing or a curse. I'm going to end up an old, wrinkly man and I'm probably still going to be in love with you and I still won't know how to feel about it. It's… I'm not happy with that."

"I'm sorry."

"You said that already."

"Yeah but I am really, really sorry." Sam reiterates as the white light breaches above the bookcase. Steve looks over at him with a sad smile.

"Sam, I…"

* * *

The memories fly quickly again after that. He lives through their short relationship over his six month leave and then jumps to another four years after his second tour when he and Steve somehow, impossibly, manage to fall into each other again and do the same old song and dance.

Steve lets him back in and it starts out great. Their honeymoon phase is always long and they smile and laugh together but inevitably the issue of Sam being in the closet and Steve being out comes back. Whether it's the dates and opportunities Steve passes up to be in the shadows with Sam or Sam only ever introducing Steve as a friend to his family if he brings him around at all, they start to argue and make up only to argue again. Sam lives it all again and he doesn't bother to change anything. It doesn't matter if he changes the dialogue of a memory, this is going to end the same way it did before.

Why bother prolonging the process? It's too painful. He's right back to where he was at the beginning, eagerly awaiting this to just be over so he doesn't have to hurt anymore.

The day Steve left, Sam hadn't seen it coming. Steve didn't leave his things in Sam's apartment lest one of his family members come by. The only thing he had there was an errant t-shirt or maybe the odd pair of socks, nothing Sam missed.

Sam had been in the kitchen. He heard the door close, singling Steve going to work and he didn't know Steve wasn't coming back until a text later that day.

Now, Sam doesn't bother with the breakfast he's supposed to be making. He walks out to the living room just as Steve is walking towards the front door.

"Steve." Sam says, clearly surprising the blonde. He jumps and turns to Sam questioningly.

"I…" Sam shakes his head, he doesn't know what else he's meant to say now. This is it, this is the last memory he has. He shakes his head once more before crossing the room, pulling the smaller man into his arms. Steve is obviously shocked, standing stock still in Sam's arms.

"I love you." Sam whispers in his ear, turning his nose into Steve's neck. He can smell him. It's not something he can commit to memory but if he could he'd catalogue it forever.

"Sam, what…" Steve trails off, his voice showing confusion and hurt. Sam can imagine his inner turmoil right now. He's already set on leaving and here Sam is, doing a completely 180 from how they were before this: fighting like cats and dogs. Sam pulls back to stare at Steve's face. He's staring back at Sam with bewilderment.

"I love you and I'm sorry. I'll always love you." Steve lets out a choked sob then.

"I hate you, you know that? I already… and you just… you make me so fucking confused and I hate it, I hate _you_." Steve grouses at him, his sobs continuing shakily.

"I know, I'm sorry." Sam replies, pulling him into another hug. Steve stays in his arms for a while before pulling away.

"I need to go to work." He says, his voice deeper than normal from the surge of emotion. Sam nods, whipping Steve's face clean with his thumbs. He leans his forehead down against his, drawing a shaky breath from Steve.

"Sam…" Steve says. It sounds like a plea. Sam leans in and presses his lips to Steve's, hoping that's what he was pleading for. Steve sighs against him, pulling him down a little to prolong the kiss.

"I love you." Sam says again. He wants to say it again and again because soon he won't even remember. Steve pulls back and looks up at him tearfully.

"I love you too." Sam smiles a little.

"Thought you hated me?"

"I do. Doesn't stick as much I'd like though." Sam leans his head against Steve's one more time. He can see the white light in the kitchen out of the corner of his eyes. He sighs to himself but makes himself let Steve.

"I'll let you get to work." Steve nods and turns towards the door before pausing.

"There's this new club Claire mentioned to me in the area, just a little way from Harlem's Paradise. It's called Paradise. No points for originality but it's a much smaller place, jazz oriented. We can check it out if you want on Thursday when we're both free again."

"I'd like that a lot." Sam answers, ignoring the tear that rolls down his cheek as the light gets even brighter.

"Don't forget." Steve says firmly. Sam nods in response.

"I won't." He says, a promise he can't keep but it doesn't matter, does it? He won't remember in a moment. He doesn't have to see Steve walk out the door again.

It's a small mercy.

* * *

Sam wakes up in a hospital bed with a killer headache and no idea how he got there.

An accident, the doctors say. Some kids were playing baseball and he got beamed. He has a slight concussion but nothing serious. He doesn't remember it at all but he doesn't have a reason to doubt the veracity of what they say.

They give him a prescription for pain killers and send him on his way. Claire's in the waiting room when he leaves. She has his phone in her hand. He peaks over to see what she's doing.

"You deleting my pictures?" Claire jumps slightly and turns to him.

"Uh, no. I was bored out here, took a few selfies. I hate 'em. I'm deleting all 100 of them." She says, laughing awkwardly. Sam gives her a quizzical look. Claire doesn't usually lie to him but he can always tell when she is. He decides to let it go when she hands his phone back over. His head hurts too much to decipher her issue.

He pauses as he notices her looking at him strangely.

"What? Do I have a big, ugly knot on my head or something? I don't even remember that baseball hitting me."

"No, there's no knot. It's just... so you're okay? You're just perfectly fine?" Claire asks.

"Yes... At least that's what the doctors say but you're the nurse so you tell me."

"Does the name Steve Rogers mean anything to you?"

"Should it?" Claire gives him a look hedging on mournful.

"No. He's just a guy I was thinking of introducing you to but he doesn't date guys in the closet, so..." Claire trails off and Sam shrugs, pulling his jacket on.

"Oh well. Let's get out of here, I'm starving."

* * *

His apartment feels empty when he gets home.

He ignores it. He ignores the tugging in his chest. He ignores the voice in his head telling him to go to the Paradise.

* * *

Eventually he can't ignore it anymore and he finds himself standing outside of the Paradise. It's a small enough place to have no bouncer outside. Sam swallows his apprehension and enters the building. The lights are dim, tables scattered to nearly the edges of the room to give way to a dance floor which features couples dancing to the jazzy cover of Adele's 'I Miss You'.

Sam looks around the room, wondering what great thing existed here that it woke him in the middle of the night and urged him here. There aren't many people here this late. There are three couples dancing: a Black man and woman who look to be in their 60s and who are excessively affectionate with one another, a Latina woman swaying lightly with a tall redhaired woman and a younger black pair. The woman sports a perfectly kept afro while the man's dreadlocks are pulled back into a tamed hairstyle. There are about four people sitting: an older Chinese couple who seem to just want to enjoy the music, a White brunette man whose eyes are closed as his head bops lightly to the singer's smoky voice, another Black guy sits almost stoically off by himself to the side, his eyes trained on the drink before him but it's the last man that really gives him pause.

He's a short, blonde fellow. The way the blue mood lighting reflects on his skin does nothing to make him look less sickly and fragile. He also happens to be staring directly at Sam. Sam pauses for a moment. He hasn't been out with a guy in a while.

After being hit in the head with a baseball, he saw God and wised up. At least, that's what he tells his family when he comes out to them. To his dismay (and embarrassment), his family's reaction is, more or less, a shrug. They knew he liked guys, they knew for a while. They thought he was bisexual because he never showed any problem with the girls they tried to set him up with and they didn't know any guys to introduce him to but they knew he wasn't straight. They had the 33-year-course of Sam's life to realize it and come to a place of acceptance. His father said he'd take Sam being gay any day over him being a criminal, hurt or dead.

Still, there's some leftover anxiety inside of him. The blonde man smiles a small, inviting smile at him. Sam shakes off the fear and walks over to the man confidently.

"Is this seat taken?" Sam asks him. The other man shakes his head.

"Good, it'd be awkward otherwise. Pity about your date though."

"Huh?"

"Them having to sit at another table?" Sam explains.

"What date?"

"Oh, come on. Someone as good looking as you didn't come here alone." The blonde chuckles then.

"Wow, that was a real roller coaster to get to such a corny drop."

"Hey, that line was mint."

"How long you practice it?"

"Right off the dome, baby. There's plenty more where that came from." The man raises an interested eyebrow.

"Really? Consider me interested."

"And you can consider me Sam." The blonde chuckles once more.

"You really do have more. It's like an arsenal of Dad jokes under the guise of pick-up lines. It's both horrible and amazing at once."

"Enough to get your name?"

"It's Steve." The blonde says, holding out his hand. Sam shakes it and instantly feels the tugging in his chest abate. He probably looks at the man slightly mystified but he's not staring at Sam much differently so it's okay.

"You know any good eats around here?" Sam asks him in a softer tone.

"I'm not really from around here." Steve says.

"I know a few open at this time. That's if you want to get out of here." Steve contemplates this for a moment before smiling at Sam.

"Sure, why not?"


End file.
